Carnal Vengeance (14 page)

Retribution.

Philip took a deep, ragged breath and renewed guilt washed over her for tempting him into the condition he was now in. She placed her hand on his lower stomach. "Just because my body isn't accommodating, doesn't mean you—"

He stopped her hand from touching him more intimately. "Until you can find pleasure in our being together, I would rather do without also." He waited until she relaxed in his arms. "Will you stay tonight?"

She immediately tensed again. "I can't. I have an early appointment and I didn't bring a change of clothes or a toothbrush, or—"

"You don't need an excuse. I understand. Just let me hold you for a while before you go."

Holly laid her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me."

Philip kissed the top of her head. "You're all I have, honey. I'd do anything for you."

Chapter 6

For four days, the news had been filled with video clips from the Senate committee hearing, opinions from women's groups as well as the general citizenry and speculation about the names of the other men Cheryl Wallace claimed participated in her gang rape.

The top story on the eleven o'clock news Thursday night was the confirmation of Timothy Ziegler's appointment to the position of Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.

The President, who was expected to attend the private reception for Ziegler in the Kessler Hotel the next evening, issued a statement to the media. "The Senate committee members deemed Miss Wallace's testimony insufficiently supported by facts to negatively affect their decision."

Stricken with a case of flu, Mrs. Ziegler would not be able to fly in for the party, but she was relieved that the hearing had ended so satisfactorily for her husband. She had never doubted him for a minute.

Senator Ziegler's sterling reputation remained intact... publicly.

Privately, the truth was known, and those knowledgeable people had to find ways of coping with the unjust decision. Though the individual reactions ranged from resentment to fury, only one person determined to give Ziegler the party that he truly deserved.

That person counted on the probability that Ziegler would be feeling very self-assured by the decision, perhaps even a bit indestructible. Such a feeling could cause him to use poor judgment in the hours before his victory celebration. Because of the news, the time and place were easily chosen. Between six and seven o'clock, Ziegler would undoubtedly be alone in his hotel room getting ready for his big evening.

All that was needed to implement justice was already at hand.

It began with a phone call from the crowded lobby of the Kessler Hotel.

"Hello?"

"Is this the new HUD secretary, Timothy Ziegler?"

With a smile in his voice, he answered, "Why, yes, it is. Who's this?"

"Someone who knows more about your past than what came out in the hearing." Knowing how protective Ziegler had been about his wife's privacy during interviews throughout the hearing, the caller added, "If you hang up, the next call I make is to your wife." The gamble paid off. Ziegler stayed on the line.

"I can't imagine what you're referring to, but if you're looking to blackmail me about something, you must not be aware of my bank balance."

"I don't want your money, only a little conversation. Are you alone?"

Ziegler hesitated long enough for the caller to wonder if his timing was off after all. "Yes, but I'm due downstairs soon. Can't this wait?"

"No, it can't, and it won't take that long. What's your room number?" Ziegler muttered directions and soon his caller was ascending one of the lobby elevators and walking down the empty hallway toward his suite. A beige canvas tote bag concealed a number of essentials, including latex gloves, which were donned just before the caller knocked.

As soon as Ziegler opened the door, his visitor pulled a gun out of the bag and motioned him back into the room.

Ziegler's gaze briefly darted to the closed bedroom door, as though looking for an escape route. Keeping a wary eye on the deadly weapon pointed at his chest, he said, "I thought you wanted to talk."

"I do. This will insure that you'll be attentive. And obedient. Go to the bar and pour yourself a glass of water, then back away." After he did as he was instructed, his visitor removed from the bag a plastic pill container partially filled with white powder. The contents were then emptied into the water and stirred with a swizzle stick. "Now, drink it."

"No, thank you. I don't indulge."

Although the senator tried to sound sarcastic, the perspiration dotting his forehead and upper lip revealed his fear. "It's only a truth inducer," the visitor lied. "It will make you more cooperative while we talk. I assure you it will be completely worn off in time for you to go to your party."

"I don't need a drug to tell you the truth. Ask me whatever you want."

The visitor's finger moved on the trigger of the gun. "You can drink it or you can die. Note how steady my hand is. I have no qualms about shooting you and I'm absolutely certain I could get away from here before anyone would come to investigate."

Ziegler stared at the finger slowly tighten on the trigger, pulling it back a fraction of an inch closer to the grip. His gaze darted to the eyes of his visitor and what he saw there convinced him to obey. "All right. I'll drink it."

Only when he lifted the glass to his mouth and drained it did the visitor allow the trigger to ease back into a somewhat less threatening position.

Fear caused Ziegler's voice to crack. "What is it you want me to talk about?"

"I'll tell you in due time but first I would suggest you choose a comfortable seat. The medication could make you a little dizzy."

Tim sat down but the other remained standing with the gun pointed at him.

"We'll give the drug ten minutes. You may want to use the time to contemplate your sins."

When the allotted time passed, the visitor said, "Let's begin with something simple. Where did you go to college?"

Tim arched an eyebrow. "After the past week, most of the country knows the answer to that."

"Cut the sarcasm. Just answer the question. I assure you they'll get harder as we go along."

"Dominion University."

"Did you date Cheryl Wallace?"

Tim frowned, but answered in the affirmative. When asked if he had set her up to be raped, however, he denied it as vehemently as he had during the hearing and insisted she had been a willing participant.

As the sedative flooded Ziegler's system, he was questioned about details of his relationship with Cheryl, but he stuck to his public story. When he was asked about other women he had dated, he continued to deny that he had ever forced himself on a woman. Even when his inquisitor grew furious and waved the gun in his face, he refused to admit he had ever abused a woman in any manner. He fought the effects of the drug as long as he could but within half an hour, he began losing the battle.

When he was barely able to hold up his head and his words became so slurred they were unintelligible, he was told who his visitor was and why he was about to be punished.

Comprehension flickered in Ziegler's eyes, and he again glanced at the closed bedroom door, but he passed out before he could put a voice to any thoughts.

Ziegler's body was adjusted so that he was slouched down in the armchair with his legs stretched out in front of him. It took a little more effort to tug his slacks and briefs down his legs.

The visitor donned a vinyl rain poncho and removed another item from the tote before realizing what had been forgotten. Luckily, a suitable tool was stored in the bar.

Using the ice tongs to raise the male organ from Ziegler's body, the visitor switched on the battery-operated carving knife. With the double serrated blades operating at high speed, justice was swiftly delivered.

As Ziegler's life blood pumped from his body, the severed penis was stuffed into his mouth and a bloody testicle placed over each eye. In case that message wasn't clear enough, a white cardboard sign was propped on his chest. Black stick-on letters formed the words:

Just punishment for a rapist

* * *

At nine-fifteen p.m., Rachel Greenley received a phone call from her supervisor, informing her of a new assignment. She was to head up the team investigating the murder of Timothy Ziegler.

"Naturally, this is to remain confidential for the time being. I need you to meet me at the Kessler Hotel as soon as you can get here," Matt said. "And Rachel, I need you clearheaded."

"No problem, sir. I'm sober as the proverbial judge." Rachel hung up the phone before allowing herself to react. The incredible irony of it was too beautiful not to share. Before she left her apartment, she made two phone calls, but neither of her friends answered.
Where the hell were they?

* * *

Philip's call woke Holly Saturday morning long before her alarm went off. "Did you hear the news?" he asked instead of greeting her. A hoarse mumble was her answer. "Senator Ziegler was murdered last night."

"What?"
Holly drew herself upright in bed.

"Someone killed the new HUD secretary, although details haven't been released yet. A secret service agent was first on the scene and apparently they were able to keep it under wraps most of the night. Can you imagine? While guests were celebrating his appointment downstairs, he was getting stiff up in his room."

"Philip! That's not funny."

"I know. It just struck me as an extreme case of poetic justice that right after his colleagues saw fit to reward him in spite of everything they'd heard, he's now in the hands of the one judge who knows the truth."

Holly rubbed her eyes, uncertain why Philip thought she needed to be awakened by such morbid news, or why he sounded so satisfied by it. "I'm still half asleep, Philip, but I'll turn on the news as soon as I get out of the shower."

"I thought perhaps you'd like me to take you out to breakfast."

"Thanks, but I'll have to pass. I have an appointment to get my hair done for the benefit dinner tonight."

"All right. I'll see you later then. Is six-thirty good for me to pick you up?"

"That'll be fine." As Holly hung up, she thought it was odd of Philip to ask her out to breakfast when they would be going out that evening.

It wasn't until she was standing under the hot spray that the purpose of Philip's call truly sunk in.

Timothy Ziegler had been murdered!
One of the men featured in the nightmare that had disrupted her sleep last night was now dead and would soon be buried. Questions of how and why popped into her head, but Philip had said details hadn't been released.

So why had he called so early? Just to let her know that a man who had gotten away with a crime would no longer be freely walking the earth? Or was it more than that? Could Philip have guessed the connection between her and Ziegler? What if he
had
looked at the list of names in her briefcase the other day, then talked to her father, and somehow pieced it all together?

That was incredibly farfetched. If Philip had seen Ziegler's name, he would have mentioned it by now, and she hadn't given her parents any names. She didn't think her mother's guessing the name Jerry would be enough. Besides that, Bernie was a strong supporter of his state senator. He had even spent some time talking to Ziegler at a rally once. No, there was no way Philip could have concluded that she had any personal interest in Ziegler's fate, other than empathizing with Cheryl Wallace.

As soon as she had the thought, she realized that had to be it. The other night Philip had mentioned the similarities between Cheryl's plight and her own. He must have assumed she'd be pleased that Tim Ziegler had received a sort of retribution.

Timothy Ziegler had been a loathsome slug, but even in her deepest depression, Holly hadn't wished him dead.

But someone had. Was it a robber? A person who held a personal or political grudge against him?

The first face that appeared in her mind was Cheryl Wallace's, followed by Bobbi Renquist's. Though April had also been used by Tim, she didn't seem nearly as hostile as the others, but since she was the one who had formed the group and held it together all these years, perhaps beneath her cool exterior seethed the most hatred of all.